


An In-Depth Study

by LoveChilde



Category: CSI: Crime Scene Investigation, Lucifer (TV)
Genre: A business arrangement, BDSM, Consensual Kink, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, No Sex, Post Season 1, Safe Sane and Consensual, mostly - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-30
Updated: 2016-04-30
Packaged: 2018-06-05 12:17:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6704272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoveChilde/pseuds/LoveChilde
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lucifer wants to understand his new vulnerability, and see if there's anything in it he can enjoy. To understand pain better, he engages a professional. </p>
<p>Spoilers through the season finale.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An In-Depth Study

**Author's Note:**

> This is for the April challenge on the H/C Bingo community: cross over two fandoms with any of four prompts I was given. I used whipping/flogging and prostitution. It was also a challenge to myself to write an unsuccessful BDSM session. Be warned, nobody walks away from this one particularly happy. But no lasting harm, either. 
> 
> Unbeta'ed due to deadline, will be beta'ed later, I promise. No sex, consentual BDSM, none of them belong to me.

“You realize I don’t usually do this anymore.” The tall, elegant woman gave Lucifer a direct look. He liked her directness; he also liked her eyes, blue and cat-slanted. He nodded, grinning.

“You’ve said. But you have to admit I’m paying very generously for your services.” 

“The money’s not the issue, Mr...Morningstar.” She hesitated only a heartbeat on his name, and his grin turned into a smirk. He knew she thought it was a false name for the sake of his safety and dignity, and in her line of work it made sense. “You intrigue me.”

“Of course I do. And you intrigue me. The services you provide.”

“The services _you_ asked for.” She reminded him, gesturing at the duffle bag on the bed, which she’d brought with her. He shrugged one shoulder, conceding her point. While he was sure she’d have some very interesting stories to tell, he was here on business. 

“You’re entirely right. No time for chit-chat, then. Your time’s expensive, so let’s get on with it.” He unbuttoned his shirt as he spoke. “Where do you want me?”

“I want to be absolutely sure that you know what you’re getting into, Mr. Morningstar. What you’re asking for is somewhat unusual.”

“Is it?” His shirt was off and he started on the rest of his clothes, since she didn’t try to stop him. He liked that she didn’t even comment on it. “You’re a dominatrix, this is your stock in trade.” 

“Yes, but usually I get requests a little more specific that just ‘hurt me, do whatever you like’. You’re giving me a very free hand, Mr. Morningstar.”

“I thought you’d enjoy that. Free will, free hand, no conditions.” He’d heal, anyway. “I’ve been watching people try to avoid certain kinds of pain and chase after other types at the same time, for years. They fear it, and yet it thrills them. Some become addicted to it. I’m- not very experienced with pain. Introduce me to it, however you see fit. I want to see what all the excitement is about. Some people like it, I want to check whether I do as well, at the hands of a skilled practitioner.” 

She gave him a searching look, and he shifted slightly to present himself better, preening under her stare. She didn’t desire him as such- not yet anyway- but she was definitely interested. “Not experienced with pain? You’ve never been punched? I find that hard to believe, given your attitude so far.” 

He chuckled. “I’ve been punched a few times. Stubbed my toe once. A few cuts. Oh, and I got shot. Twice. Those two times were no fun at all, but I suppose I wasn’t in any position to appreciate and evaluate the pain then. And besides, in all of human depravity, I’ve met very few people who allow others to shoot them just to get their jollies. Pain is an art. Punishment is an art. But I’ve never given it for pleasure myself.” He’d spent millennia torturing souls in Hell, but that wasn’t for his own pleasure, it was a job. At most, what he got from it was the satisfaction of justice being done. And nobody in Hell enjoyed their punishments; for those who found pleasure in pain, Hell had myriad other options of appropriate punishment they’d find truly agonizing. “I want to understand what it’s like, what people find so enticing about it.”

“You already are.” She pointed out, tilting her head slightly. “You’re excited just by the danger of it, the thrill of engaging my services, of slipping away from your partner, of doing something you know she’d disapprove of. Let me be very clear, there’ll be no sex. I don’t help people cheat.” Her eyes grew cold, but his grin only widened.

“Oh, Decker and I are not a couple, Ms. Kessler. And I didn’t slip away, she’s safely asleep next door, there’s only a wall between us. In a way, that does rather increases the thrill.” 

It had taken some doing and some manipulation, but he’d talked Detective Decker into taking her child on a long weekend vacation in Vegas, all expenses paid, to recover from Malcolm’s actions, and to comfort Trixie about her dad being in custody, pending trial. Lucifer needed her nearby, or this entire experiment would be over before it started. In order to explore and understand the lust for pain, he needed to be able to feel it, to be vulnerable. 

He didn’t feel vulnerable quite yet, standing naked before the best and most expensive retired dominatrix in Las Vegas. He suspected her past clients had been less comfortable being on display, but what did he have to be shy about? He was quite perfect, after all; he’d made sure of it. 

She nodded, once. “Call me Ma’am, or My Lady, or Lady Heather. I’m not here as your therapist. What’s your safe word?”

“Don’t need one.” He didn’t want to be able to stop her, on the off-chance that he’d not enjoy it. 

She closed the distance between them in two long strides and slapped him hard across the face, open handed. “Show the proper respect when you address me. And tell me your safe word, or take your money and leave now.” 

“Oh, I _like_ you.” She slapped him again, backhanded this time, “Ma’am.” His face stung, and there was nothing pleasant or sexy about it except the thrill of satisfaction that _there, I’m doing this, she means business_. 

“Safe word, Mr. Morningstar. Do not make me ask again.” 

“Oh, very well.” He thought about it for a moment. “Chloe. Ma’am. Now can we start?”

“We’ve already started, Mr. Morningstar. Go to the wall, place your hands flat on it, higher than your shoulders, and arch your back.” 

He knew that position, and got himself into it without protest. After all, he’d asked for this, he wanted this, and he wasn’t going to stop Lady Heather from doing her job. 

“Any choice as to what I should start with?” Her voice was cool, her hands running over his shoulders and back down to his ass even cooler. He didn’t flinch or shiver, but it felt odd. He wasn’t used to ceding control like this. 

“From what I’ve seen, whips are traditional. But the choice is yours, My Lady. I’d like to try everything.” If he didn’t like one implement, perhaps he’d like the others. 

“Very well. I think we’ll start with punishment for your disrespect earlier.”

This, he would have protested, but they were playing by her rules and fair was fair, so he held position. He held it when he heard her open the bag behind him, and didn’t glance back to see what she had picked. He held position when leather whistled through the air, and when it lashed across his shoulder, leaving a sharp, hot sting behind. He recognized it as a single tail whip, maybe three feet long, based on the sound it made and its speed. After six lashes she stopped, and he let out a silent breath. 

“Good boy. How was that?”

“Still not seeing why people enjoy this. Ma’am.” It stung unpleasantly and there was no titillation in it. “Perhaps you should continue. Maybe six isn’t enough for me to get it.” 

“Maybe so. Alright.” 

The whip came down again and again, from his shoulders all the way down his thighs, leaving nothing untouched in between. She was skilled, he had to admit, spreading the lashes evenly, timing them well, giving him a moment to savor every individual stroke- if there was anything about it to savor, that is. He tasted the pain, rolled it around his mouth and mind like a fine wine, and found it mostly sour, bitter and- well, painful. It was no fun at all. 

He was breathing a little harder when she stopped at last. Her hand smoothing over his shoulder felt cold against the heated skin and sent a chill down his spine. 

“I don’t think this is working out for you, is it?” 

“Mm? How would you know, then? You’re not in my mind.” 

“No, but I have eyes.” Her hand slid across to the front of his body, where his cock lay limp and unresponsive, even when she touched it. He shrugged. It hurt. 

“Maybe I haven’t had enough yet. Or you need to change implements.”

“Or you need to be more respectful, _boy_.” She stepped back from him, and her hand cracked against his rear twice, hard. Unprepared, he jumped very slightly. “That’s twice now. I will not tolerate a third time.”

“Apologies, My Lady.” He was going to play by her rules, no matter how silly and demeaning they were. He was the one who wanted to play this game. However, he resented ‘boy’. While his human form was younger than she was, the word stung as much as the whip had, but deeper. 

“Don’t let it happen again.” 

“Don’t call me ‘boy’ again. Ma’am. I’m here to explore pain, not to be insulted.” 

“Don’t behave like a child, then. And now be quiet while I choose something new.” 

He was starting to get irritated. Patience was among the many virtues he made a point of not practicing, but fortunately she was quick enough, and spoke just before he opened his mouth again. 

“On the bed, face down. Spread your legs and let them hang off the bed.” 

He obeyed, curious. He became less curious almost immediately after a line of fire was painted diagonally across his ass, and stifled a curse. Twisting around, he saw she wielded a medium weight rattan cane- which came down again, catching his thigh at an awkward angle. 

To Lucifer’s eternal embarrassment, he let out a yelp of pain. 

“I told you not to move, b- Mr. Morningstar.” It was a point in her favor that she caught herself in time. Another point in her favor was that she put the cane down and inspected the long weal on his leg, spotted with tiny droplets of blood. “Let me take care of this before we continue.” 

He didn’t mind bleeding- well, not much- but the cane _hurt_ , more than the whip had. And there was nothing fun about it. He hissed when she swiped an entirely unnecessary alcohol wipe over the welt, where the bleeding had already stopped anyway. “I don’t think I like canes, My Lady. Try something else.” 

As it turned out, canes weren’t the only instrument Lucifer didn’t like. Paddles were discarded after a dozen strokes (‘too wide, a blunt instrument, no elegance to it’); the flogger, Lucifer mocked as too gentle, until he was struck with it a few times, at which point it too was put away. Canes were entirely out of the question after the first failed attempt. The crop wasn’t too terrible, although by that point Lucifer hurt even when Lady Heather was all the way on the other side of the room, just staying still and breathing. But there was no thrill in it, nothing sensual, nothing that turned him on. He even found that thinking sexy thoughts was useless while he was being hit at the same time.

“Is it possible that you’re doing it wrong? My lady.” At least he’d learned that bit. “I’m supposed to be enjoying this.” 

“No, you’re supposed to try and find out whether you enjoy it. So far, I believe that the answer is that no, you don’t. There’s no shame in stopping.” 

That couldn’t be right, though. He was the devil, he was supposed to indulge in all human vices. Finding one he simply didn’t like made no sense. “No, keep going. Surely there are other things we can explore.”

“If you’re sure…”

“I’m sure.” Firm and steady. Lady Heather was going to find out that Lucifer was a stubborn bastard when he had his mind and heart set on something, and not easily deterred. 

A couple of hours later, he wasn’t so sure anymore. 

They’d explored other things. Heat and cold had done nothing to excite him, though heat came almost close enough to count as enjoyable until it crossed the line into being painful. Instruments applied to other parts of Lucifer’s body did nothing except hurt him, and he honestly couldn’t understand how people could get any pleasure from any of it. The way his hands felt after a few strokes of a tawse explained why Hell had housed so many schoolmasters, in past centuries. That humans could even come up with these ideas...and they called _him_ devilish.

Well, he was. But so were they.

“Enough. You need a break.” 

He was slumped on the bed, hair matted to his forehead with sweat (sweating was also a new and unpleasant experience), feeling rather like he’d been flayed alive. He was an expert flayer, himself, and felt a sudden pang of sympathy for his past victims, deserving as they’d been. 

“Here.” Cool hands prompted Lucifer’s head to rise slightly and something plastic was guided into his mouth. “Drink.” It was juice of some kind, out of a box with a straw stuck in it, too sweet and entirely artificial and very very welcome. He was out of breath when he finished it, but felt a little better. “Are you still with me, Mr. Morningstar?”

“Where else would I be?” He hadn’t let her tie him to the bed, not that any rope would’ve kept him. The point of this was to go as far as he wanted to- and they obviously hadn’t gone far enough yet. He was already healing, slowly because Decker was nearby, but faster than a human would have. Disappointment and failure were so much worse than physical pain, because those would stay with him longer. 

“Just making sure.” Lady Heather ran her fingers through his hair and he leaned into the caress. Finally, a touch he enjoyed- but he was still as far from turned on as he’d ever been. In fact, Lucifer could remember only a handful of times that he’d been _less_ interested in sex. “How are you doing? Ready to stop?”

“No.” They were doing something wrong. He still couldn’t see the appeal in it, and there had to _be_ an appeal, because some people enjoyed it. Even the thrill of the forbidden had faded. Now he was just annoyed, and disappointed, and in pain. Surely there had to be something more. “I don’t know what you’re doing wrong.” 

“I’m not doing anything wrong, Mr. Morningstar. You simply don’t seem to be turned on by pain. Plenty of people aren’t, you know. It’s a matter of taste. I suspect yours may just not go in that direction. As academic study goes, you’ve been reasonably thorough.” She was still stroking his hair, and that was very nice indeed. “Maybe you need to be more attracted to your partner. More familiar with them. Perhaps I don’t know you well enough.”

“Don’t sell yourself short, Lady Heather, you’re a very attractive woman. Under normal circumstances I’d be up for anything with you.” While that was true enough, Lucifer had to add, in the interests of honesty and the fact that he was running out of patience with being hit with things, “Anything, apparently, but what we’re doing now.” 

“Yes, I rather noticed. I think we’re finished, Mr. Morningstar. I’ve gone as far as I’m willing to go with you on this. I’m not interested in just inflicting pain for the sake of pain. But you still intrigue me.”

“Do I? I suppose you don’t get many clients who don’t enjoy themselves.” There was a definite sulking note to Lucifer’s voice, which he made no effort to hide.

“Sometimes I do. Sometimes people want to be punished, to atone for something, to feel like they’re clearing their ledger, emotionally at least. They don’t find it sexual, but there’s catharsis in it, and that’s plenty, for some people.”

Punishment and justice, Lucifer understood perfectly well. He nodded into the pillow. “Fair punishment where it’s due, that’s entirely in my wheelhouse. But I haven’t done anything wrong.” Not unless this woman was a divine vessel sent by his Father, which he somehow doubted. This was harding fitting punishment for his disobedience to God, after all. No, he had nothing in particular that he felt the need to atone for. “My conscience is clear.” Insofar as he had one, which was debatable in itself.

“Then perhaps you’re just not a masochist, Mr. Morningstar. Nor, I suspect, a sadist.” 

“I told you, I get no pleasure from hurting others unless they deserve it.” He agreed. He was getting rather sleepy, and still healing. He already hurt less, and for a moment was tempted to ask Lady Heather to continue, after all. But no, this was entirely a lost cause. A failed experiment. “I’m afraid I’ve wasted your time, Ma’am.” They were done, but he was still trying to keep to her rules, more or less. 

“You’ve paid me for my time, Mr. Morningstar. It’s hardly been wasted.”

“Ouch. Harsh.” Not that either one of them wasn’t aware of it. “You know, I’ve never had to pay for sex before. Not in money, anyway.”

“You’re not paying for sex now, either.” She reminded him, her voice cool again, her hand leaving his hair. He found that he missed the contact. Turning his head to face her, Lucifer gave her his most rakish, suggestive look.

“You sure of that? Because I could use some comfort sex right about now.” 

“I’m very sure of it.” She smiled, and there was nothing teasing about it, no promise of future favors. Such a shame. But he decided not to press the issue, since he was tired and she still had a cane within reach. “No, we are almost finished here, Mr. Morningstar.” 

“Are we? Too bad. I enjoyed your company.” And he didn’t feel like getting up to see her out, which seemed like a thing he should do, somehow. 

“I’ve enjoyed your company as well.” Something light and a little scratchy was placed right by Lucifer’s nose, and he opened his eyes again and raised his head slightly to find it was a business card. “Call me if you’re in Vegas again. And call me, any time, day or night, if you want to discuss what we did tonight.” He opened his mouth and she placed a finger on his lips before he had a chance to say anything, “ _Only_ to discuss what we did tonight. Not for any old topic that comes to your mind, Mr. Morningstar. This is my personal number, do not abuse the privilege.” 

“Yes ma’am.” Damn, and he’d had such plans. She was a licensed therapist, just like Doctor Linda, and he thought maybe a second opinion would help on a few things. Well, he’d think about that later, too.

Lady Heather packed her instruments, stroked his hair one more time, indicated the bottle of juice on the bedside table, and closed the door silently behind her when she left. Lucifer ignored the bottle and turned over, wincing when his abused skin hit the sheets. He felt mostly unfulfilled, tired, sore and frustrated. 

But. This was Las Vegas. Slowly, his despondency turned into a grin, and he forced himself to sit up.and drink the juice- still too sweet, but it was exactly what he needed. The night was young, after all. So what if his little experiment had failed. 

There were plenty of other vices out there to distract him, in this city of sins. And those vices he did enjoy, very much. 

By the time Lucifer left the hotel room, he was whistling.


End file.
